❀
The people of Solterra stand as statues in the city. He wonders if there are corpses inside. Everyone wonders that, he thinks, except maybe the basilisk, who perhaps would know. Toro searches for anyone he recognizes, winding between frozen screams for the painful twist of familiarity in the most unfortunate circumstances.
There it is.
”Anzhelo,” he chokes, ”No!” Toro charges through the statues, skittering to a stop before his only friend. Is it him? Gods, yes, it is. Who else has those gemstone antlers, those doe eyes, that- that scale around his neck? Anger blooms deep and sour within - what good was that talisman if it saved Toro from a battle that never happened, but let its owner be imprisoned in stone?
”I’m sorry,” he whispers. I should have been there.
El Toro is a man strangled by his own emotions.
But something in him begs to weep.
There is not enough resistance left to tell it no, now that Anzhelo is gone there is no reason to deny that he was a friend to Toro, the first and only in this strange new land and…something else was there, something he would still stamp down even in death. Tears prickle at his shining opal eyes and Toro bows his white head. Hajduk curls around his legs, pressing his warm pale head to Toro, purring. The young lion had never met Anzhelo, no, but he could surely feel the pain coursing through their bond, electric and wailing.
Toro does not hear the first bits of stone peel away, nor does he pay any heed to Hajduk’s prodding, not until a piece of stone hits him in the head. Toro jumps backward, stunned, and then - he sees. The buttermilk-and-blackberry hide of his - his friend - his Anzhelo. His face is still wet as he works his mouth, confusion and mourning and disbelief leaving him sputtering. The joy follows the final piece of stone, as Anzhelo blinks for the first time again. ”You’re alive.” His tone is marked by awe and mucus.
@
I’ll keep on living
for the dead boy that I love
for the dead boy that I love
